


Homestuck Shorts

by Talkinghands (orphan_account)



Category: Homestuck
Genre: F/F, F/M, Gen, Gods and Godesses, Homestuck Secret Santa, M/M, Michigan, Multi, Other, Pirates, Short Stories, Worship, cherubplay, cherubplay prompt, continuing stories, cute stuff, detroit michigan, homestuck short stories, homestuck trash, implied lesbians
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-26
Updated: 2015-12-25
Packaged: 2018-03-03 14:39:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2854472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/Talkinghands
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of short Homestuck stories following everything from ancient occultist Rose, to Equius the undertaker. Currently updating with more stories, as well as full stories on the ancestors.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Virgin Mother's Temple

Rose Lalonde Maryam paused in her chanting, readjusting her shawl with one free hand. The temple’s air was sticky with the body heat of one thousand odd worshipers and the feeling of someone blowing air on her exposed neck was making it very hard for Rose to stay in a holy state of mind; she may be the Seer, but worship was supposed to be intimate, not arousing. Skaia forbid that Rose get any lewd ideas while sitting in a dully lit temple full of women and worshiping the goddess of fertility while wearing nothing but their barest garments and gossamer robes. 

Seated on a stone chair at the front of the room, two sticks of crisp smelling incense burning on either side, the Virgin Mother gazed sightlessly over the crowd. Her hair was groomed neatly away from her face and two twin horns – their asymmetrically tips working as a symbol of crafted imperfection – arced back like the silhouette of a monarch’s crown. In one hand, she held a fresh, leafy palm fond; in the other, there was the body of a white bird.

The goddess was pretty, in the eldritch sort of way that all of the gods were depicted in.; too symmetrical faces, genderless stone lines and the same hollow look in their eyes. Ageless, frozen in their fixed positions until the day that they were set to walk again.  
With a note of annoyance, Rose saw that somebody had draped a jade green shawl over the Virgin Mother’s form so to create the illusion of modesty – most likely in consideration for the newest batch of church worshipers. It seemed rather silly in Rose’s opinion, as if the goddess of fertility could find offence in her nakedness. There was no shame in nudity; it was the representation of revealing all truths, as well as a symbol for the Virgin Mother’s gift of life. Covering her up almost felt like blasphemy.

With a cough that shook her bones, Rose lowered her eyes and resumed her steady chanting. The prayers fell easily from her lips, but like the Virgin Mother’s eyes, they were hollow and without meaning. Words that once felt charged with untapped blessings now felt like hackneyed phrases meant to help children fall asleep at night. 

“Bless the earth in the name of the Virgin Mother that does look down on us. Blessings to the mothers and daughters under the protection of the Virgin Mother that does look down on us,” chanted Rose, resisting the urge to lick her dry lips. “Blessings to those who follow the righteous path of the 12 disciples in the name of the Virgin Mother that does look down on us. Blessing to the weary and lost who have strayed from the righteous path in the name of the Virgin Mother that does look down on us.” 

It wasn’t as if Rose was a nonbeliever, rather it was like her old bones had come to terms with the reality that Virgin Mother was not going to wake in her lifetime. Rose’s prayers weren’t going to be the ones that would cause the Virgin Mother’s stone eyes to finally blink open, she would undoubtedly be long gone by the time that the goddess’ lips finally parted and took in a breath. If Rose had chosen to have any children, maybe their children would be alive to see the gods walk through the streets, but she herself would never get that chance. 

Rose had been in the church since before she could remember. Her childhood was made up of studies in prayer, carrying out the Virgin Mother’s goodwill and learning how to be the perfect servant of the temple. Everything from scrubbing the dried blood of sacrifices from the Virgin Mother’s feet, to nursing the infants that so often showed up abandoned on the temple steps, was taught to Rose at a very young age. On days of worship, Rose would stand on the darkened wings of the temple, bandaged arms holding her basket of offerings and trying to blink back the hot tears from the previous day’s teachings. 

If she strained her eyes, Rose could make out the prepubescent forms of the young maids in shadows with their woven baskets. More than one would probably be crying, either from the cloying cinnamon incense or other reasons. In remembrance, a phantom ache started in Rose’s arms from where her white scars still bore the near legible phrases of ‘blessed be the Virgin Mother who does look down on us,’ and ‘blessings to those who follow in the path of the Virgin Mother who does look down on us.’ They were her battle scars, her red badge of honor from years of dedicated service to a stone idol. 

At her age, Rose had come to terms with great deal of things that the temple did. Even they weren’t spared from the grimdark tainting that leaked in from the farthest ring. There was evil in the exploitation and manipulation of the young maids, cruelty in the way that children were sometimes stolen from beds in order to fill in the spot of a maiden who didn’t make it past her final trainings, and an icy apathy in how efficient Rose had become in slipping the cold forms of abandoned infants from the lap of the Virgin Mother and taking them down to the underground graves, reserved only for the unnamed children left on their steps. 

“Blessings to those who walk in the sun in the name of the Virgin Mother that does look down on us. Amen.” 

The chanting cut off with a note of finality and the sound of rusting robes filled the air. Idle chatter was exchanged as the younger priestesses stood from their kneeling and quickly filed out, eager to use their day off to socialize with the world outside the temple’s walls. Rose stood more slowly, having to use her cane to get her weary bones off of the floor. The cold stone was hell on her arthritis this time of year. 

“Do you need any held Seer?” one of the younger priestesses asked.

“No, thank you,” said Rose, waving her away with one gnarled hand. “Blessing on you, go enjoy the rest of your day.” 

The young girl walked away, looping one arm around another’s waist as they chatted lightly. Laughter flittered gaily through the air, creating a vastly different air than the one that had been previous. Personally, Rose thought that the Virgin Mother would prefer the more lighthearted setting than the ritualistic chanting, but who was she to change tradition? 

An assortment of women, mostly the pregnant and more elderly, remained in the temple, waiting for their daughters or apprentices to bring them their tea so that they could gossip in the cool of the temple. Outside, it was nearly midday and the sun would be relentless on their walk back to their homes.  
The temple maidens had filed out from the shadows and begun their task of collecting up the dripping offering from the Virgin Mother’s feet and putting them into the baskets held under their thin arms. Beads, limp birds and springs of flowers all found their way into the baskets. The maidens worked silently and diligently, not sparing a glance at any of the lingering worshipers. 

Adjusting her shawl once more, Rose walked across the temple floor, trying to work out the stiffness that had settled in her hip. Being old had put a damper on many aspects of her life – she had drawn the line at the cane – but her mind was still sharp as a nail. She could run a still temple, despite what other people said, and there was nothing wrong with addressing the Virgin Mother like an old friend. 

In all technicalities, the Virgin Mother was the only friend that Rose Maryam had left. The representatives that she had grown up knowing – John Serket, Dave Pyrope, Jade Vantas – had all passed into the shadowed land long ago, leaving Rose with only her goddess and thoughts.  
“Now who would have put this on you?” asked Rose, not expecting a response. “I suppose it was one of those younger girls again, maybe that Amelia girl- pardon, woman. She’s expecting a son in the next month or so. I keep telling her to stay home but she’s so devout.” – Rose sat down on the steps, leaning against Virgin Mother’s cold legs – “Blessings to her, but I don’t feel like she’s cut out to be the next Seer. The Roxy girl though, she I could imagine being a good heir. Good head on her shoulders.”  
One of the maidens scooted around Rose with a dampened cloth and tried to scrub the blood spots from the granite around her, but thought otherwise when seeing that the woman was preoccupied. 

“She found some way to turn her hair pink – how she managed escapes me – and Jezebel is threatening to send her to the Messiah’s court if she doesn’t clean up her act,” Rose laughed. “As if she would have the gall to throw the girl to such wolves. We both know she’s a softie deep down.” 

The laugh turned into a cough that rattled in Rose’s chest, shaking her thin shoulders with each drawn breath. Damn old age and its effects. 

“Seer,” a voice said. “Do you need a cup of water?” 

It was one of the expecting women whose stomach was blown full with a pair of twins. In her hand, she held a rough cup that had obviously made by a child’s hand; it was beautiful. 

“Ah, yes please, dear. That would be wonderful.” 

Taking her outreached hand, Rose struggled to her feet and made her way over to the group of women who had collected themselves around a portable flame and a boiling teapot. Behind her, the Virgin Mother sat as still as she always had, watching with her sightless eyes as life continued to move on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short story for tumblr user: mommalalonde  
> Thank you so much for being my homestuck secret santa! It was really great to get to work on something as cool as this for you.


	2. Neither for the first time, nor the last

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Equius Zahhak ties up the lose ends concerning an old acquaintance's death; it's strange how someone would only be remembered though holes in the wall and shadows were posters used to hang.

Equius always found that his line of work was called on more frequently in the winter. It had been a chilly day, dreary looking clouds hung low over the city and the bite of potential snow was in the air. Already, a few wispy flakes were starting to fall from the sky, absently twirling their way onto Equius’ wide brimmed hat. 

Drawing the crumpled slip of paper out of his pocket, Equius checked the address again. People passed by him, barley batting an eyelash at a smartly dressed blue blood being in such an unfamiliar part of town; it was the type of area where questions were saved for police and everybody else simply moved on with their lives. Perfect for somebody like Equius’ client. 

Movers made their way up and down the stairs, carrying out a roughed up couch and other assorted furniture to the moving truck that had been parked on the curb outside the apartment complex. One worker stopped and gave Equius a puzzled look.   
“His apartment’s up there if that’s what you’re here for,” she said, brushing past him with her load of boxes before Equius could so much as thank her. 

Letting himself in, Equius was struck by how empty the house felt. It smelled empty, like moving boxes and plastic shoe covers. Outside, Equius could still hear the movers dragging the last of the furniture down the stairs. There was an industrial sized trash bag in the corner that was full of paper scraps and tape, but the apartment was otherwise devoid of any clues that would indicate that anybody – or any troll – once lived there. 

Removing his shoes, Equius gingerly set aside his work bag, hat and coat to the side of the door, away from any trampling boots or spiteful workers. He had a job to do. Equius had been called over in order to oversee the final cleaning of the deceased Mr. Vantas’ apartment. 

From the doorway, the small apartment split into two: to his immediate left, a spacious living room with a sliding door that lead out to a balcony overlooking the parking lot below; to the right, a more cramped dining area that was separated from the kitchen by a demi-wall of plaster and marble countertop; and in front of him was a closed door that presumably lead to the deceased owners bedroom. 

Crossing the room, Equius couldn’t help but note how certain sections of the beige walls had rectangular shadows imprinted on them, as if the paint had been obstructed from the sun’s damage for a prolonged period of time and retained its original coloring. Judging from the peppering of minute holes in the walls’ plaster, the shadows were most likely the work of Karkat’s fabled movie poster collection; something that Equius had never gotten a chance to see.

It seemed odd that out of all the things that could have been left behind in order to define is previous owner, the apartment had chosen to hang onto the poster shadows and nail holes. 

Pushing open the bedroom door, Equius was meet with another empty room. The blackout curtains had been stripped from the windows, but there were still the telltale stains of recuperacoon spill against the wall paint. Oily looking marks had spread across the wall at about chest height, hinting that the owner had either been a very active troll, or a restless sleeper. 

From what Equius could recall about the troll from his younger years, it was most likely the latter. Karkat had never struck him as the type to be involved in any vacillating quadrants or one night pitch stands. 

With a quick pace around the room’s perimeter, Equius double checked the closets, assuring that the movers had removed all of the possessions, then moved on to bathroom. It had been scrubbed white and clean, all the telltale bleach spots from troll prescription toothpaste had been lifted from the counters surface. Nothing in the house – save for the molted wallpaper, sopor stains and nail holes – would tell that a troll named Karkat Vantas used to live there. 

In that sense, Equius’ job was done. 

Returning to his work bag, Equius moved his brief case to the counter top, deftly flipped the silver clasps of the brief case open and removed his legal documents. With a practiced hand, he signed off on the papers saying that he, Equius Zahhak, did visit Karkat Vantas’ apartment and that there wasn’t any trace of property damage due to psionics, claw, or any other naturally equipped weapons. In all legal technicalities, Vantas’ quadrantmate should have been filling out the paper work; however, due to his empty quadrants at the time of death, it fell on Equius’ shoulder to take care of the work since his name had been found under ‘emergency contacts’ in Vantas’ address book. 

“Who even keeps address books these days?” Equius thought to himself as he signed off of the last document. 

Equius left the papers lying in a neat stack on the counter top for the real estate agent, who should be coming by later. Brushing the lint from his coat, Equius deftly put back on his hat and headed back into the December chill. This wasn’t the first of his friends that he had needed to sign off for, nor would it be the last, but what mattered at the moment was that he had a moirail back at home that he desperately needed to talk to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bless, I was going to go down the road of sadstuck, then I decided that the last thing I needed right now would be more depressing junk to bog me down. I'll most likely come back to this and elaborate later as all the trolls grow older in the 'normal' world.


	3. Destined in Detroit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Equius Zahhak was so done with this turf war, it wasn't even funny. Detroit has been split between two rival gangs - The Felt and the Midnight Crew - leaving the crest of the city to try to get by as well as they can. Zahhak is not amused.

Equius Zahhak was so done with this turf war, it wasn’t even funny.

Tightening his grip on the torque wrench, Equius pushed against the lug nut, muscles straining against the stubborn metal. He had been working on repairing this motorcycle for over an hour now, all he had left to do was replace the front tire, and then he would be finished. The only problem was that the owner, a shady guy called ‘Crowbar,’ had completely crashed the motorcycle, mangling the front tire in the process.

Giving a final push, the metal gave, sending the twisted lug nut skittering across the garage’s floor. A slight ‘ping’ sounded as it bounced off of a half assembled bumper, causing the ball of metal to roll under Equius’ make shift tool bench. He would have to fish that our later.

First things first though, he have this bike ready and working by morning. The sweat soaked towel under Equius was forming a gritty film, and his broken horn ached from where it had been bumping up against the motorcycle’s rims, but he only had – Equius looked towards the clock blearily. It was 3:28; he had three, maybe four, hours to get this bike running again. Not nearly enough time to get everything he wanted done.

Mentally, Equius started going through the day’s checklist as he set about removing the bike’s tire. After he was done with this, he would need to check the head lights and do a check on the brakes. He would probably need to take it for a test run, just to make sure that everything was working smoothly. There was also question of whether he should do an oil check if he still had the time. Scratching the skin around his goggles with the butt of his wrench, Equius continued to disassemble the mangled bike.

He would be lucky if he finished in six hours, five if he pushed it.

Chill, Michigan air crept into the garage, worming its way through the duct taped windows. The smell of gasoline and black coffee hung heavy in the air; a space heater hummed contently in the corner. Bit and pieces of machinery lay littered on the floor, most of it resting on brightly colored towels so that they wouldn’t get damaged on the garage’s icy, concrete floor. It looked exactly like what it was, a shoddy garage repair shop that catered to whoever paid the most money and didn't ask any questions. 

He finished at 6:50 am with 20 minutes to spare. Standing in his kitchen, nursing a plate of cold eggs, Equius had watched at Crowbar rolled out of his cronies’ car, made his way of the frozen driveway, and knocked on the door with the flat of his ungloved hand. That was good news; Equius would have been more scared if Crowbar had decided to wear gloves. The gloves meant that wasn’t here to start any trouble.

Through the glass, Crowbar’s bug-eyed gaze caught Equius’ and he was reminded of just how…human the gang members actually were. How old was he? Only two, three years younger than Equius, probably still in high school. Standing there in his lack, puffy jacket, Crowbar looked like any other shoddy white kid bumming on Detroit’s streets. It was surreal to this that this guy had probably killed people. Just crazy.

But it wasn’t his business. Waving Crowbar inside, Equius stuck his plate in the empty sink and lead Crowbar to the attached garage out back.

The trade went smoothly. The bike started up fine, Crowbar didn’t bitch about the shoddy paint job, and Equius got his money. It was a small fee, but the implied protection was well worth it. He didn’t have to worry about his garage getting gutted, or walking outside to find his car sitting on cinder blocks. Nah, he was on the Felt’s good side.

Watching from his doorstep, Equius stood on the front porch and smoked one of his brother’s cigarettes, watching as watched as Crowbar started up his fixed bike. With a roar, the bike started up and he pealed out of the driveway, bleached dreadlocks flapping in the air as the kid tore down the empty street. Showing off. 

From the house, the coffee pot let out a chipper beep, signaling that it had finished perking. The sun was just starting to rise over Detroit, Michigan, and Equius headed back inside, prepping himself for another day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bless this piece, I really loved writing this. Destined in Detroit was supposed to be a part of a long time story that I never quite got around to finishing up, but I might pick it back up in 2015. This was all drawn from my two years living in Michigan and I hope to add in some more of my better memories from my time up there. 
> 
> Like did you know that they have some great coffee shop? Seriously. In all of the states I've lived in, I've never had a better 'home town coffee shop' experience than in Michigan. My years there can literally be summed up in molasses cookies and kiddie coffees. 
> 
> Loved writing this, I hope to add more.


	4. in which Jade has a date

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Jade gets stood up on a date and ends up setting up to share a wonderful meal with Rose Lalonde. Response to a Cherubplay prompt that never got off the ground.

To all the coffee shop AU writers, to all the hipsters looking for love in leather chairs, to all the people who came in asking about the secret menu - which was total bullshit - Jade R. Harley would like to extend a sincere 'please stop.' She would have liked to send it in the form of a well-drawn middle finger in their venti, milk based, extra foam, special order, shamrock latte, but like most broke college students, Jade needed the meager $8.25 an hour that The Ellemerich Elk gave her. 

Jade worked at a local coffee shop/restaurant/bed&breakfast that her grandfather had built before he finally 'settled down' - aka, when he died. What kind of exotic drugs grandfather was on when he thought of the name, Jade had no idea, but it drew in people from all around the county, so she wasn't about to complain. The work was hard, the pay was mediocre, tips were pretty nice, and the steady stream of cute vacations girls passing through was always appreciated. 

Cute girls like the one that Jade had recently meet. 

Meu was a deaf student who had decided to come up to the mountains to "find spiritual awakening and soul rejuvenation." In all honest, Jade called total baloney on the while thing, but Meu was hot, and she wasn't butch, so that was pretty great in Jade's book. 

Good heavens, Jade was so done with butch lesbians. After the last girl, her rapper name had been 'R4D1C4L G4L' or something, Harley had sworn of any girl who thought that snapbacks were okay to wear on first dates and still wore anything with rainbows on it. 

Shutout to all lesbians in the area: just say no to rainbows.

Anyway, Jade and Meu had met through one of the restaurant's regulars, a bookish girl who Jade had only recently started talking to. 

Rose had been a frequent visitor for...well a good while now. To be blatantly honest, it had taken Jade a long time to even notice Rose holed up in her special corner. John did most of the waitressing to the guests while Jade manned the check in desk/check out area; it was only after John caught a nasty cold - "that's what you get for eating people's gross leftovers," Jade had chastised - that Jade took over waiting tables, and found Rose. 

Their first conversation was uneventful, their second more formal, then after Jade had fallen on Rose's table after being shoved by a particularly robust soccer mom, the ice between them broke and they started to open up. Soon, Rose was mentioning a friend of hers who had recently gotten out of a longtime relationship with her boyfriend and was looking to go back to her bisexual roots for the first time in a few years. 

Jade didn't usually like to be a post-breakup pickup, but hey, business had been slow in the bed department and beggars couldn't be choosers. With Rose's help, the two of them had planned to meet at a French bistro a little ways away from Jade's job. Well, they were supposed to meet, but John wasn't hurrying his fat ass up and Jade couldn't close the restaurant up with him still inside!

"John," she called into the restaurant, "I'm leaving the keys on the front desk, don't leave the door open for too much."

"Okay!" yelled John, his voice carrying out from the kitchen, "I'm not going to be that much longEr" - his voice cracked and muffled laughter was heard - "just go have fun on your date!"

Jade's mouth dropped open into a neat O and she dropped the keys to the counter. "OKAY, WELL ILL JUST BE GOING THEN. BE SAFE AND, LIKE, ILL SEE YOU TOMORROW." Clomping across the foyer, Jade tried to make a show of opening the store doors and closing them loudly before letting out a burst of laughter. 

Just the thought of her brother getting silly with someone was a riot, but in their restaurant's kitchen, that was a hoot. Oh damn, she was never going to let John hear the last of this. Ever. 

Unwrapping her umbrella, Jade quickly made her way down the rainy street and towards the more populated stores. The restuaruant where she was meeting Rose was only about a 20minute walk. Looking down at her watch again, damn that habit, Jade picked up her feet and started to run. Shit shit shit shit. She was so late.

Jade arrived outside of the bistro in a flurry of rainwater, curses, and barely suppressed hair. Damn her untraceable ancestors - grandpa liked his women/men/hot people, so the family had a hard time tracing roots - and their genes for having giant hair. Was the 'exotic beauty' cool? Yeah, sure, when the weather was nice and Jade could pleat her hair into smaller twists or some shit other than a mane of curls and friz. 

Quickly twisting her hair into a manageable braid, Jade left her umbrella leaning against the brick wall and entered the store. 

Joey and Augustine ran L'Bistro, a hole in the wall restaurant that sold pretty authentic French food. Augustine had lived in Alsace for all of his life, until Joey went overseas for an honors college trip in his junior year of college and brought back a fiancee at the end of the teaching quarter. 

Scanning the mostly empty restaurant, Jade looked for the girl that Rose had described: a tall Korean girl with long black hair who would be wearing a green sweater. Nobody matched that description, not even close. 

"You looking for somebody?" Joey asked her as he finished ringing up a set of customers. 

"Yeah, I'm looking for a girl in a green sweater, we were supposed to be meeting for a date."

"Was she tall and wearing a pair of cat eats? Spoke with a bit of a lisp?"

Jade shrugged. "I wouldn't know. Did she come in here though?"

"Yeah but," Joey pursed his lips, "she left about twenty minutes ago with another guy."

Jade's heart deflated. That would have probably been the ex that Rose was talking about. She was about to thank Joey and wish him a goodnight, when a familiar blonde head caught Jade's eye. Sure enough, it was Rose, sitting alone at a table for two and anxiously checking her phone. Had...Was it possible that Rose was here for a date too?

"Can I do anything to help?" Joey asked, but Jade was already walking to Rose's table. 

Gingerly, Jade tapped the girl on one shoulder, not wanting to just barge right up like some sort of hooligan. "Hey, are you waiting for someone?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TBH I was literally in so much pain by the time I finished this, both mental pain and physical pain. The person who I connected with on Cherubplay was also really inconsiderate, asking me to rewrite a large portion of the prompt so that it fit their half-baked prompt of "Jade works at a restaurant that Rose frequents and one day Rose gets stood up on a date. Pretty simple."
> 
> After writing all of that, the person on the other end inserted Meulin in as a waitress who gushed over Rose and Jade EVEN after my character explicitly stated that this was just a friendly dinner. 
> 
> Terrible RP, became increasingly uncomfortable as time went on, the other writer was inconsolable and refused to come to a happy medium when talking about plot; hated this RP with a passion, but loved my first reply.


	5. Surprise in Paris

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Essentially it's about three/four years after the game, and Rose decided to go out on her own and live in Paris. However, post-game there are a few changes done to everyone. Trolls are turned into humans, sprites are also humanized, no one is godtier. But if they were godtier, there's something of an 'effect' system. They deal with a physical impairment that's related to their title."

Dave was always an odd mix of emotions. Some days, he wouldn’t have traded those five years for the world – hah, pun there – other days, he hated himself for not trusting Harley and just pulling the project’s plug when they all still had time. Sure, he had made some pretty great people, beaten a legendary boss, and gotten to be a god, but that didn’t help him when he woke up at 3am in a cold sweat from night terrors.

Nightmares, damn it, not night terrors. Doctor Lalonde’s posh way of speaking had finally gotten to him. The troupe had been staying with parents who everyone had dubbed with affectionate names like “Dadbert” and “Doctor Lalonde” and “Grandpa Harley.” The idea was like something out of a romanticized novel about four polyamorous persons who decided to adopt a shit ton of kids and live out their lives in a mountain cottage; in reality, it was more like a psychiatrist and her three friends taking care of PTSD sufferers in a home where nobody would think to look for them as they tried to remember how to relearn how to act normal.

Dave wasn’t going to go into a large spiel about what had happened after they “finished” the game – he used quotes around finished because Dave, like everyone, knew that it was never really over – but in basics, it was a long and shit paved road to normality that Dave never wanted to reminisce about.

Like, haha, remember that one time Vriska almost killed Tavros over a game of monopoly? Hilarious. Or the ever reoccurring gag of “Roxy, you know you have to pay for stuff in stores now! Silly girl!” Hell, they had established routines during that first year of transition, like gathering in the kitchen and having midnight therapy talks over mugs of hot cholate while trying to look like nobody had heard them crying/yelling/getting sick/screaming earlier.

Oh yeah, such fun and fantastic times. It only got better after Rose turned head and disappeared into bug fck nowhere.

It had been after they were 'released' back into the real world. Everyone, save for a few of the ex-trolls, had gotten cleared by Doctor Lalonde and been moved into closely monitored, very safe communities. Rose, Dave, John and Jade had been grouped together and given a nice apartment in a city that was small enough to keep Jade from going into any sort of culture shock, but big enough to where Dave still felt pretty at home. It was a nice place and life was really starting to look up, until Rose left.

Jade was a wreck, John was a wreck, Doctor Lalonde was a wreck, the only one not totally panicking was Dave. Rose was smart and she (probably) knew what she was doing. Fear only really started to set in after their third anniversary of arrival drew closer, and everyone started to, well, break a bit.

Not mentally breaking or anything, but more like just kind of have physical shit start to go down. It started with Karkat's fainting spells. According to Kanaya. He had complained about feeling dizzy for the past couple of weeks and everyone had just kind of passed it off as him getting another cold since flu season was hitting everyone really hard that year. No big deal, until Karkat started fainting. Doctor Lalonde said that he had Hypoglycemia, a long word for saying that Karkat had really low blood sugar because of some underlying medical condition, probably with his adrenal glands.

Again, no big deal, until the coincidences starting stacking up and the evidence toppled over like a giant stack of stacked death dominos. Some of the medical conditions were pretty small and manageable, like Nepeta’s OCD, but others, like Dirk’s new heart condition, were something that needed more attention. In Dave’s apartment, Jade’s narcolepsy had come back full swing, and John was having a gay ol’ time with trichotillomania. So in all, Dave felt like he had gotten off pretty easily.

For him, it started with pins and needles in his hands. Normally it was just when Dave woke up first thing in the morning, but it started happening more and more frequently. Dave was one of the last one to report to Doctor Lalonde with “problems,” and only after him and Jade were in the kitchen and Dave suddenly found that “Oh hey, this coffee cup is not going to stay in my hands because they’re going to take some well needed time off and just be useless meat stumps for a bit.”

After a good long talk with Doctor Lalonde, Dave found that he wasn’t about to kneel over anytime soon, but he was going to have to deal heavy duty wrist braces in his future. For the most part, he was just going to have a lot of unsteady hands, phantom pins and needles, numbness, and permanent loss of feeling in his fingertips. Unless he was planning on taking up the harp, Dave was pretty much in the medical clear.

Nearing the anniversary of Rose's leaving, Dave thought that it was a good idea to dip into the bottomless Stri-Lalonde well of money and take some well-needed time off. With everyone falling apart in the apartment – APARTment, wow another pun – as well as the the group as a whole, a relaxing getaway for one was definitely in order. 

One fateful movie night after Dave had made his vacation decision, Karkat had goaded him into watching Eat, Pray, Love. Dave personally thought it was a cheesy movie overall, Karkat still cried, but something inside of him clicked. That's what Dave wanted to do. He wanted to have a sappy romcom adventure where he traveled the world and ate a lot of exotic foods while unlocking the true meaning of happiness, but like, minus having an asshole pasta chef boyfriend.

After that, it was just a matter of leaving for Dave. Jade had already made plans to move in with Davesprite and his roomate, another ex-sprite, Jaspers. John, hating the idea all together, unwillingly had Doctor Lalonde set him with a new group. By the end of the week, they were all packed and ready for their new homes. 

Standing on the streets of Paris, Dave took a deep breath of air. It smelled like bread, dirty water and tourists.Terrific way to start the morning. He had rented out a small hotel room - and when he said small, he meant small - that overlooked the River Seine and had a rather nice view of some cute gardens and shit. 

Bless the game rules and whatever the hell was still carrying through, because Dave had found that he didn't need to learn any new languages to travel the world. Why the Gift of Gab was still working, Dave didn't really concern himself with. 

That day, Dave actually had a plan for how he wanted it to look. As much hype as the city got, there wasn't a terrible amount of things to do. Dave had taken to spending the last few days cruising through the city on a garishly yellow Rent-A-Bike during the day, finding the most authentic food he could get his hands on, then going to a club. Very holy, very spiritual, very much what Dave was in need for. 

That day, though, Dave wanted to go see a real church. Not like one of those brick and mortar churches that dotted every city in Austin, Texas, but like a real church with stained glass windows, and hymnals, and paintings of saints on the ceiling. 

Briskly making his way through a crowd of people heading to their respective jobs. France was crowded as fck - like all city folk, though, they had the inbuilt knowledge of how to avoid bumping other people - so when Dave ran smack into someone, he had to be honest and say he was a little more than taken back. 

"Oh! Excusez-moi mademoiselle," Dave said, righting himself from the blow. "Je ne sais pas ces rues, c'est mon fault. Voici, ta canne..." 

The words faltered, mid-sentence. As Dave held out the outstretched cane, he looked and saw that the woman who had run into him was no random stranger, but his sister. 

"Rose? Holy shit, is that you?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another Cherubplay response: "Essentially it's about three/four years after the game, and Rose decided to go out on her own and live in Paris. However, post-game there are a few changes done to everyone. Trolls are turned into humans, sprites are also humanized, no one is godtier. But if they were godtier, there's something of an 'effect' system. They deal with a physical impairment that's related to their title."
> 
> Thought that it was a really cool concept. The person's starter prompt was for a blind!Rose living in Paris, I responded with Dave doing some soul traveling. The person never logged back online after my reply so this never went anywhere. 
> 
> I like to look back on this and wonder where it might have gone.


	6. Bottom of the River

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nepeta is a backwater orphan who lives with a bobcat, is acquaintances with a water witch, and traps furs for a living. She finds a dead girl on the riverbank and figures that Rose will know what to do with it.

Nepeta probably had a very tragic backstory -- one filled with star-crossed lovers for parents, and a happy childhood ruined by a gang of robbers -- but she didn't remember any of it, and she didn't want to know. As far as Nepeta was concerned, not knowing where she came from was the most interesting thing about her. 

She could say that her parents were extremely wealthy tobacco farmers and had been traveling to their winter house when they were attacked by Indians and baby Nepeta -- who probably had a more dignified name like Suzanne or Virginia -- was tossed into the woods, where she was found by Pounce. 

Or maybe Nepeta's mother had been on the run from the law and while trying to cross the river and throw off the law's dogs, had been shot in the back and Nepeta had been swept down the stream and found by a witch's familiar. 

There was more scenarios than Nepeta could count -- she could count up to thirty -- but each one had her being taken in by Pounce, and growing up in the mountains with the help of Rose, the lake witch. 

Whistling through the gap in her teeth, Nepeta kicked at stray stones as she meandered up farther up the river, towards one of her favorite fishing spots. The morning sun still had hours before it would be up and there was a dewy coolness to the air. Nepeta had a ticklin' that today was going to be her lucky day; something about the way that the river was babbling and how Pounce was licking his jowls. 

As Nepeta rounded the bend of the river, something caught her eye. Against the browns and grays of the bank, there was a stark white bundle lump of some sort that had been washed up. In the dim light, Nepeta couldn't make out what it was -- probably a bundle of linens swept off someone's clothes lines -- but as she and Pounce drew closer, Nepeta could make out the vague outlines of a person. 

"Well gosh diddly dang," Nepeta said, setting down her fishing gear to roll the person over. The girl -- Nepeta could definitely tell that they were a girl -- was still as death, a slight bluish tinge to her skin from lying on the cold riverbank all night. Her skin was like ice from lying in the river's water, but Nepeta had an inklin' that she knew somebody that could use a dead body like this one. "C'mn Pounce, we're goin' back." 

Leaving her fishing rod where it lay -- wasn't like there was anybody around to steal it -- Nepeta picked up the girl, trying to saddle her on one hip like a very large, very heavy child, and slowly trecked the way back to Rose's home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There was so much wrong with this RP i can't even begin. In 2016 I need a separate story thing just to bitch about all of the terrible RPs that I've gotten dragged into. 
> 
> Besides trying to white wash every character that I was writing, this person was incredibly dull to write with. I'm not even bothering to post the rest of this RP (even though i really loved writing for this water witch Rose and it made me so happy to explore a potential relationship between her and Nep) just because of how annoyed I am. 
> 
> Maybe I'm just a really choosy jerk with RPs. Who knows.


End file.
